Menin Kazakhstanum

I get alot of comments about my profile picture on Facebook and here on Blogger. It's me standing in an outhouse do exactly what you might be guessing. I obviously didn't take the picture, nor did I ask for it to be taken, but, being the guy that I am, I find it hilarious. My wife generally rolls her eyes at me.

Anyway, I was in Kazakhstan when that picture was taken. If you know me for very long, you find out pretty quickly that I lived in Kazakhstan for two years. I also visited there before and after that two year term. I was there teaching English, among other things and had a blast. It was a great experience and I have more stories from that trip than I can really explain in this little post, but I'll give you a taste: ate a sheep's eyeball, was a victim of police brutality, took a nap at some guy's house I had just met in a city where I knew nobody else, blew out the match of a mad drunk guy who tried to smoke in the only place in all Kazakhstan where you can't smoke, experienced two -40 degree winters, was on TV because I was an American learning the Kazakh language, rode a bus for 36 hrs, and was in a car that ran off the road out in the middle of NOWHERE in the coldest part of winter! That's just a glimpse of my experiences there.

Today broke out my Kazakhstan music CD that I picked up while I was there. I tried to remember some the Kazakh language I learned. Ran the names of my Kazakh friends through my head, most of whom I haven't been in touch with since I was there. I sent an e-mail to one of American friends who still lives there to let him know that I remembered him and the others who are there. I yarped for all those closest in my heart. Every once in a while, I'll do this. And it makes me wish that I was there again. Sipping tea and, at this time of year, eating watermelon. Chatting with friends and listening to music. Walking the tree lined street and trying to come up something to teach my students. Learning new Kazakh words, trying to wedge them into conversations with real Kazakhs, and being bragged over by one of the apais saying I speak Kazakh better than her own son. I want to go back so badly.